


A Dance With Ashes

by IceImagines



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Implied sexy times, alluded suicide ment, angst with a side of panic attack and gay that's what this is, betsy's life is sad, but zero graphic despriction, fairly graphic descriptions of extreme violence, fake happy ending, for real poor thing everything that happens to her is awful, nothing is ok and everything is on fire, so much, so much crying, this is basically one long weird overly elaborate poem with some dialogue thrown in, what the hell is linear narration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 08:50:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11986389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceImagines/pseuds/IceImagines
Summary: Chaos makes Betsy feel alive, and Ororo has never been drawn to destruction. But Betsy's gleaming blades and trails of blood fascinate her in strange ways. And everyone knows there is beauty in being terrible.





	A Dance With Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> well here i am at it again with my dear, dear rarepairs. not much of a plot to be found here, but it reads pretty i guess? parts of it are written more like poetry than prose. i don't even know what i was doing when i came up with this, i definitely didn't intend it to be this dark. but still, if there's any love in your heart for rare x-men f/f ships, this one's for you. 
> 
> fair warning, some of this is based pretty heavily in continuity at the time. it's set around 2014 at the time of brian wood's ajectiveless run, while psylocke was also on cable's x-force team. that's where the whole "disappearing at night and coming back all fucked up" thing comes from. 
> 
> you can always find me on tumblr as icewuerfelchen, feel free to scream at me about gay mutants anytime

Loving Betsy was like nothing Ororo had ever felt.

She had thought herself to possess some degree of experience in matters of the heart. After Forge, after Yukio, after T‘Challa, even after Logan, she had assumed she knew what being in love was like.

Betsy Braddock proved her wrong with a single searing look from those deep violet eyes, with a split second of biting her lower lip ever-so-slightly as the corners of her mouth curled into a smile, gone as quickly as it had come. There was knowledge behind her glance, the knowledge that there was nothing more she needed to do to make Ororo‘s heart skip a beat. She treasured every one of those precious, precious smiles of Betsy‘s. She knew no one other than her had seen Betsy smile in years. 

But even more than the knowledge, there was something else that Ororo couldn‘t recognize for what it was for a very long time. 

There was despair, and a kind of fear deeper rooted than even the passion in her kiss when she pushed Ororo against the wall inside her dark office after the sun had long set. Ororo could taste it on her lips as Betsy‘s body pressed closely against hers, radiating warmth even through the leather of her uniform. She touched Ororo so tenderly with those hands, took her over entirely with so little effort that it was almost too easy to forget. But it was there, always looming somewhere in the dark just out of reach. And Ororo knew it was what made Betsy let go of her with one last kiss so gentle it almost made her burst. It was the reason she had to watch her disappear without a sound, the reason why despite everything she was still alone with the terrible thoughts in her head every night. How she longed for someone to hold her then, for someone to keep her company until the sun would finally rise again and banish the demons at least for a little while. 

But that was not what loving Betsy was like. 

Loving Betsy was stolen glances and carefully concealed thoughts, it was hiding in plain sight from everyone around them, it was denial and longing and that terrible, terrible temptation. Loving Betsy was something Ororo was never allowed to do in the light.

And oh, these days did grow unbearable all too soon. It proceeded to the point where Ororo was almost glad to on the nights that Betsy slipped away from the grounds of the Jean Grey School, and would not return for days, sometimes weeks. That was the only time Ororo was able to forget. The only time she could pretend she didn‘t feel the way she did. She knew the others would eventually notice, she was simply unable to hide it. She caught herself watching Betsy out of the corner of her eyes every time she moved, her heart beating harder against her ribs at every small touch, hanging on Betsy‘s every word the few times she spoke. She watched that beautiful mouth and all she could think about was how it had felt pressed against Ororo‘s own. And how she longed to feel that again with every fiber of her being.

When Betsy was gone, she could forget. But Betsy always came back, and when she did, she‘d be covered in bruises and scratches, with bloodstains on her face and another combat suit torn up all over, and a weariness in her eyes that betrayed her suffering despite the best facade she put on. 

And that was loving Betsy. 

Loving Betsy was staying up with her all night until the sun came up again, spending hours scrubbing the blood from her hands and out from under her cracked fingernails, cleansing and stitching up countless cuts all over her body, again and again and again. Ororo watched as new scars emerged, adding to the ones scattered over Betsy‘s skin like spots of ink. 

There was a very large one between her shoulder blades, stretching out like a twisted spider‘s web. The only trace that remained of what Betsy had been meant to become, the Queen of Death that had very nearly vanquished her very soul and eradicated every trace of life wherever she went. 

There were those scars that marred her abdomen, still red and angry after all these years, just like Ororo‘s mind still reverberated with Betsy‘s death scream no matter how much time might have passed. She would never forget the sight of her broken body, lying on the floor in a gigantic puddle of blood, her inner organs almost entirely torn out of her body, already very nearly dead. How close she had come to losing her that day.

There were a myriad of slim, pale scars all over Betsy‘s arms and legs, the only physical reminder of the agony she had been in that day, of how much she had lost, of the guilt she still carried with her like a blood red cross on her back. The weight was no less and it would never dwindle. Ororo knew that, better perhaps than most.

She had noticed the small, perfectly vertical scar just above Betsy‘s navel and the exact counterpart on her back. Her gentle question as to its origin had been met with silence and a blank stare, but Betsy‘s eyes had flickered to the sword leaning in the corner of the room for nothing more than a heartbeat. 

Ororo had not asked anymore. 

Instead, she had held Betsy all through the night, stroked her hair and softly promised her again and again that she was safe, that it would be all right, until she finally stopped trembling and her breathing slowed down. Then, if she fell asleep for a little while, it was only to be woken by the demons in her mind very soon after, and Ororo was always there. Always.

It was everything she could do to keep her own heart from bursting with the pain she knew Betsy felt. There was nothing she despised herself more for than the terrible knowledge that she could not help her, she could not take her pain away no matter how she tried. She could only stitch her back together as best she could and let her go when the morning came, always knowing it would happen again.

Betsy self-destructed constantly, never daring to let her wounds close and heal. She tore them open again with her own hands every time, just to prove that she could still feel, and if it could not be happiness it would have to be pain. 

But she was beautiful in her self-destruction. Oh, so agonizingly beautiful. 

And that, that was loving Betsy, too. Watching her one moment too long and being unable to look away, finding yourself falling head over heels and worshipping her crawling at her feet even when she was the one who was down on the ground. Ororo could spend hours just silently admiring her, marveling at how she unified beauty and chaos so effortlessly. Sometimes Ororo would sneak into the Danger Room observation booth and watch as Betsy tore through small armies of holograms, whirling and jumping and dodging and striking and slashing like it came to her all by itself, like her motions were being controlled by something higher, something outside her body and soul. Watching Betsy fight was like watching her dance. 

She had explained it to Ororo once, a long time ago. These times were the only ones that truly made her feel alive. There was nothing about her dance that required effort from her. Her swords with their silvery gleaming blades smeared with blood were more extensions of Betsy‘s self than tools of any kind. When she moved like that, when she pushed that body that was not truly her own to its limits and beyond just to prove that she could, that was when she felt whole. The ashes that she danced on, the eye of storm that she created were where she belonged. 

When Ororo sat there watching her, when she really _looked_ , beyond the facade of efficiency and cold, then she saw that. And she understood. 

The love of chaos that made Betsy‘s heart beat was the same that took over Ororo when she bent the heavens and moved its storms and streams of raw, crackling power with nothing more than a thought. It was what shot through her veins like the most delicious kind of drug every time her feet left the ground and she flew. 

It meant freedom, and a dark kind of joy that was the only happiness Betsy found herself capable of feeling these days. 

And that Ororo understood was the reason it was her duty to stop Betsy from losing herself within it. She knew the temptation that came with that kind of power. Ororo had learned to control it, but Betsy, even if she had known how, would not have wanted to. With every passing day the constant decay within her soul took more and more of her and the only thing that soothed the sheer terror that that knowledge brought was the pain Betsy inflicted on others, and most of all herself. 

And the more she took Ororo‘s heart in her beauty and her terrible tragedy, the more it hurt Ororo to watch her do that to herself. She had seen the deep, seething hatred for herself that Betsy carried within her soul, and more than anything Ororo wanted to take that away. These chains that were wrapped around Betsy‘s mind and enslaved her within that darkness were not of her own making, but she was the one who kept tightening them and they burned into her flesh, leaving deep, scorching marks that would never truly vanish again. 

It was almost as though Ororo could smell the smoke when Betsy suddenly stood in the doorway of the observation booth and their minds linked, the feeling so familiar by now that it was comfort more than terror in spite of all the darkness. But Betsy had half unzipped her training suit and she leaned over Ororo in her chair, and when her teeth grazed Ororo‘s neck and she caressed the dark flesh with kisses like the strokes of a butterfly‘s wing, Ororo forgot how to breathe.

„Did you like what you saw?“, Betsy murmured in her ear. She could not answer and didn‘t have to. Betsy was everything there was, everything that mattered. Her kiss, her touch, her mind conjoined with Ororo‘s to the point where there was no telling where one ended and the other began. 

That, too, was loving Betsy. 

It was gasping for air as she kissed the breath off Ororo‘s lips, losing every trace of herself within her, desperately clinging to her, trying to keep her close and deny the awful truth that these moments were fleeting, and Betsy would soon be gone as quickly as she had come. But she made Ororo forget that, so, so easily, when she undressed her slowly in the dim light and kissed every inch of her body with a care that broke Ororo‘s heart. She made it hard to believe that those lips spat out venom and seething anger so many of the times they moved, that those hands that held Ororo like she was made of fragile, precious glass had held a bloody sword and taken a life not so long ago. 

It had not been hard to make Betsy want her like this. The transition from years of friendship and unconditional trust to this - to heated kisses and hours spent together in the dead of the night with nothing left to separate their bodies from each other - had been all too easy. 

But Ororo wanted more than that, and Betsy would shy away from her touch every time she tried to get more than skin deep. Her facade came up again every time it was just starting to give way, and Ororo was looking into the dead eyes of someone who had no warmth left to give in her bruised, bruised heart. 

And that, she realized, more than anything else, was loving Betsy. It was this desperation and the overwhelming need to hold onto her, and the horror that befell her more and more the further she slipped away. It was the knowledge that she had never loved anyone like this before, she had never been at someone‘s mercy and willingly surrendered like this, and even if Betsy should feel the same she would rather have died than ever let Ororo know. 

She would not give Ororo anything more than her body because she believed there was only poison beneath her skin. And there was nothing, nothing in this world that Ororo could do to make Betsy see anything more than a monster in the mirror. 

It was one night, a few hours away from dawn, that Betsy appeared in Ororo‘s room without making a sound, and when Ororo looked at her her face was streaked with tears and blood. She collapsed there on her doorstep and spent hours weeping in Ororo‘s arms, but she would not tell her what had happened, would not say who the blood all over her belonged to, would not open her mind for a single second. She would not let Ororo in even when she was clinging to her in her weakest moment. 

There were tears running down Ororo‘s cheeks, too, tears caused by Betsy‘s suffering, and tears of anger at herself. Her and her stupid helplessness. How could she call herself a leader when she couldn‘t even ease the agony of the woman she loved more than anything in this world? How could she expect anyone‘s trust when this was all she could do... kneel here on the cold floor with Betsy in her arms, silent and frozen in place and _useless_ , so useless. 

„Why won‘t you tell me what is hurting you so much?“ The words left her lips as nothing more than a whisper, and hardly by Ororo‘s own accord. Betsy‘s grip around her tightened. She didn‘t answer. Ororo just felt her sob harder against her shoulder. 

„I just want to help you. Please, Betsy, just... just tell me, how can I make it better?“ Her voice was shaky and trembling. She couldn‘t even bring herself to loathe herself for her weakness. 

She felt Betsy shake her head. „You can‘t. You can‘t.“ They were barely even words. 

Ororo drew back, taking Betsy‘s face between her hands and making her look at her. She studied her features, still achingly beautiful even now when her cheeks shone with tears and the red around her eyes was barely distinguishable from the blood her skin was smeared with. Ororo‘s heart convulsed with love and terror at the sight of her.

„I can. I will.“

Another shake of the head, more vigorous than before.

„I will. I will, do you hear me?“ The desperation creeping into her feverish words was unmistakable. „I won‘t let you destroy yourself anymore. I don‘t care about what you have done or what you will do.“

„You should. You should be scared of me. If you knew what I did- if you knew even a fraction of it-“

„I don‘t care!“ It was almost a shout, more so than Ororo had intended. She forced herself to breathe. In, out. In, out. Her head tipped forward, her forehead coming to rest against Betsy‘s. „Do you understand what I‘m saying to you? This stops, now. I won‘t let it happen anymore.“

„You can‘t _save me_ , Ororo.“

„We‘ll see about that.“

„Don‘t. Don‘t.“

„I love you.“ 

Betsy stopped for a second. Her sobs had grown quieter. „No, you don‘t.“ Her voice was sheer disbelief. „You can‘t.“

„Like hell I can‘t.“ 

„You- you-“ There was panic creeping into her voice now. She tried to detangle herself from Ororo, unsuccessfully. „Don‘t say that, please... oh, God, no, no, no.“

„And why shouldn‘t I?“

„You‘re going to die.“ Betsy had stopped struggling. She was crying again. „They all die. All of them. I can‘t protect you if you... if you get too close-“

Ororo interrupted her. „Oh, please, don‘t even try the whole ,I‘m dangerous to you because my enemies will find you‘ song and dance. I‘ve been there. Guess what? I‘m still alive.“ 

She pulled Betsy close, cradling her head against her shoulder, softly stroking her hair. Betsy didn‘t resist this time. She wrapped her arms around Ororo, her body still trembling with quiet sobs. 

„I love you. I love you.“ Again and again she said it, like a strange mantra of some kind, as if the three words alone could make Betsy‘s pain go away. It was a childish romantic notion, and yet, Betsy‘s breathing finally seemed to slow down.

„I‘ll ruin you“, she whispered against Ororo‘s skin. Something like a pained little chuckle escaped Ororo‘s lips.

„Oh, my dear. You could never ruin me.“

She didn‘t know how much time they spent kneeling there on the floor, holding each other tightly, gently rocking back and forth. Just that sometime, Betsy disappeared into the shower and Ororo sat on her bed, wondering how everything had happened so fast. A day ago she had still been silently admiring Betsy from afar, the distance between them a gaping abyss no matter how desperate their touch. 

Now, there was this... and Ororo did not have words for it. Not now, and not sometime later when Betsy came back, the blood washed off her face and wearing a too-big t-shirt from Ororo. But she climbed into the bed and curled up against her under the covers, perfect even with a frown still on her face long after she finally fell asleep. And Ororo knew she had nightmares, but the nightmares would be over eventually. And Betsy was safe as long as she was here with her. 

She might still be in pain, and Ororo knew she would be for a long time to come. Maybe forever. But maybe, just maybe, she could finally give Ororo a chance to help her ease that pain. Maybe there was more than darkness waiting at the end of tunnel.

Maybe loving Betsy could also mean hope.


End file.
